A Challenge by polutropos

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Chapter 1

Golodh, Golodhrim = Noldo, Noldor in Sindarin
Thindar = Sindar, as pronounced with a Þ

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“Let’s get out of here.”

Maglor appeared at Daeron’s side and slid his half-empty glass of honey wine onto the table behind him. Daeron spun to face him and a spark shot down his spine – Elbereth, how this Golodh affected him. Maglor’s lips crept into a smirk, denting his left cheek with that perfect little dimple.

“Yes, please,” Daeron replied. He threw back the rest of his drink, nearly tipping the glass over in his haste to set it down, and scanned the long wood-beamed hall for the most direct and discreet exit. It was still early and there were far too many people present – he really ought to tell Mablung that he was retiring for the evening. Undoubtedly someone, growing bored of the usual musical entertainment, would call for a song from Doriath’s minstrel, or better yet a duet with the Golodhrim’s most esteemed singer, only to find neither of them there to indulge their wishes.

Well, it served them right. It was just such a request that had put Daeron in this position of being besotted with Maglor in the first place. Neither of them had any intention of testing themselves in that situation in front of an audience again, now that they’d discovered it was nearly impossible for them to play music together without ending up in a feverish dance of tangled limbs accompanied by a chorus of decadent moans. Unless they could find a way to avoid that inevitable outcome – and truth be told Daeron wasn’t at all interested in avoiding it – there would be no more public performances by the two of them at Mereth Aderthad.

Spotting a clear path towards an arched doorway, Daeron strode towards it and hoped Maglor would have the sense not to follow too closely behind him. Once outside, he slipped under the eaves of the wooden hall and waited. He’d only just leaned up against the wall, realising that his head spun a little too rapidly to be attributed to lust alone and trying to remember how many glasses of wine he’d had, when there was suddenly a body pressed against him and another’s breath hot on his lips.

Daeron gasped and tilted his head up and away, only prompting Maglor to pepper his exposed neck with kisses instead. “Not here!” he whispered sharply, fingertips gripping at the wall behind him.

“Why not?” Maglor said, now clutching Daeron’s waist in both hands. “Let them see us. They wanted us uniting, didn’t they?”

“I don’t think,” Daeron replied, planting his hips firmly against the wall, “that is what your uncle meant.”

“I think you are ashamed to be with me.” Maglor lifted his head and tenderly pushed Daeron’s hair aside. “Are you?”

“You’re drunk,” Daeron replied.

“Yes, I am.” Maglor yanked on Daeron’s waist and pulled him flush against him with both hands on the small of his back. Daeron was of average height among the Sindar and just as adept with bow and arrow as he was with pen and ink, but these Golodhrim were unreasonably tall and Maglor was far stronger than his elegant form made him look. There was no hope of wriggling out of this, but if he didn’t separate himself from Maglor soon, he’d lose all will to try.

“I will resort to other means if you don’t let me go,” Daeron said through gritted teeth.

“That would be very unfair.” Maglor drew a trail of kisses down the side of his neck. “I don’t know those songs. The Noldor don’t use music to ensorcel like you wily Thindar.” Maglor looked into Daeron’s eyes and slurred, “You sorserser,” before collapsing against him.

Daeron seized the opportunity to push his momentarily limp body off and away, spinning Maglor so his back landed against the wall beside him – none too soon, because one of the Green-elves, a messenger to Doriath whom Daeron knew fairly well, walked through the door.

She gave him a calm, enigmatic smile. “Good night, Minstrel,” she said, then, noticing Maglor leaning against the wall beside him, corrected herself: “Minstrels.” Maglor only rolled his head towards her and smirked. It was fortunate for him that the Green-elves did not care much for social niceties. In fact, they probably preferred princes who didn’t behave, well – princely. With a sparkle of recognition in her eyes, she nodded and went on her way.

“Anyway,” Maglor announced, unexpectedly loud in Daeron’s left ear. “I doubt you would be able to use music to repel me.”

“Oh?” Daeron stepped away from the wall and faced him, arms crossed over his chest, to avoid getting into another compromising position. “Are you challenging me?”

Maglor laughed brightly, a sound that sent a rush of warmth straight into the pit of Daeron’s stomach. “Yes, I think I am.” He made to grab him again but Daeron broke into a run, getting as much of a head start down the stony path towards his tent as he could. Surely he’d be able to just as effectively keep Maglor off with song as he was able to keep him on? Not that he much wanted to keep him off – a thought that set him running harder to get to the privacy of the tent.

Once through the flap, they were immediately at each other, Maglor’s fingers as nimble as ever despite his inebriated state as he unclasped the hooks of Daeron’s robe and slipped it off his shoulders.

“You’re doing a terrible job,” Maglor said, still pressed up against Daeron’s mouth. Then he took his lower lip between his teeth and bit – hard, causing Daeron to shout and stagger as he was pushed down onto a plush bedroll.

“Well,” Maglor said, kneeling beside him and propping himself up with one arm between Daeron’s thighs, “you’re still very much failing to ward me off with your dark elf magic.”

“Oh, shut up!” Daeron lifted an arm to shove him away, even as he regretted allowing himself to be so easily baited, but Maglor grabbed his wrist mid-strike and pinned it back to the ground.

“What?” he said, grinning wickedly and leaning over to force him back against the bedroll. “You are. A dark elf.” One hand moved to work at the laces of Daeron’s trousers. “A very attractive dark elf who has ensorceled and deceived me with his dark songs.”

Daeron’s hips rolled forward and his head began to tip back… No – he would prove he was not completely at the mercy of this arrogant, flame-eyed Golodh with his beautiful voice. He smacked Maglor’s hand from his waist, causing him to flinch away long enough for Daeron to get out the first words he could think of:

Be gone, be gone
O wicked creature
of dark night
release me!

It was a stupid song, meant for children who encountered dangerous animals in the woods, but it was the best Daeron could do under the circumstances. It appeared not to have worked.

“Release you?” Maglor tugged on his waistband. “That is exactly what I was trying to do.”

Just before Maglor could stifle him with a kiss, Daeron spat another song at him:

Barbed arrow take thy tongue!
Silence!
May great root trip thee in thy pursuit,
O – aahh!

Undeterred, Maglor was kissing down his chest in a way that was making it more and more difficult for Daeron to breathe, nevermind concentrate on the intent of his song – but the embarrassment at finding his powers so utterly ineffectual was still narrowly winning out over the ache to submit. He closed his eyes and focused all his thought on a final effort:

Strike, O thundercloud
Burn, O lightning
Stay back, stay back!

Maglor yelped and jolted backwards. Daeron beamed for a moment at having proven himself, but his delight quickly fled when he saw Maglor’s pained eyes and pinched brows. He shuffled to sit upright.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “it wasn’t supposed to actually hurt–”

In an instant, Maglor’s feigned agony transformed into an exuberant grin as he energetically leaned over Daeron and clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Shhh! Not another sound out of you, minstrel,” he said, as Daeron grimaced and struggled to pull himself away from the hand clamped firmly around his jaw. “You’ve had your chance.”

To Daeron’s relief, he soon peeled his hand off, replacing it with the much softer touch of his lips, fingertips trailing down his neck.

“A good effort,” he conceded, propping Daeron up against some pillows and lowering himself down over him. “I am sure if you’d truly wanted to be rid of me it would have worked.”

Maglor pushed himself back, nuzzling at Daeron’s stomach and flicking his tongue against the prickling skin on his way down.

“Ah, please,” Daeron groaned.

“Shh,” Maglor said, his eyes a flare of light as he cast them up, threatening. “I said no more sounds.”

Daeron pinched his lips together and rolled his head back, biting down on a laugh. Now this would be a difficult challenge.